


I'll go back where I can find what's true

by kristin



Category: The Phantom Tollbooth - Norton Juster
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristin/pseuds/kristin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FOR MILO, WHO KNOWS ALMOST ENOUGH</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll go back where I can find what's true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [primeideal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/gifts).



> Title from Katie Costello's "Anywhere Place"

The once was a boy named Milo who didn’t know what to do with himself, until he, as boys often do, learned a lesson and learned to love, well, learning. This was due to an adventure that he, if pressed, would claim never happened. But no one tried to iron the details of a trip to an impossible land from him, and so he never had to present the only remainder he had, a bright blue envelope.

Milo was a man, not a boy, the day he next got a Letter. He had, since the last, which was now just the latter, of course received all manner of post - from catalogs that shouted BUY NOW to birthday cards only a little late and even electronic mail received on his computer. For Milo was now, much to his chagrin, and abetted by that aforementioned birthday, rather old indeed.

This wasn't a sad thing, Milo thought, caught in the net of contemplation, as old men are often wont to do. He had been quite prepared for it to be awful, growing old. In the stories, even the ones that didn't just stop at 'ever after', the older the hero got, the less their story seemed to be their story, sidelined into cliches and always defined as someone's grandparent. But Milo had found this to be not the case at all, why, the older he got, the more himself he felt!

But for all his years, and the things he had learned, Milo still felt very young as he reached for the blue envelope which read:

_FOR MILO, WHO KNOWS ALMOST ENOUGH_

He paused for a moment before opening it. For it was true, Milo knew almost enough. Knew enough about adventures to know that one never came back precisely as one left and quite often never came back at all. Knew that adventures were for the young and vigorous (even if he wasn’t sure he believed it). 

Why, he knew so very much more than when he had last gone through the tollbooth! Including, it must be said, the word vigorous, which before he started all his learning Milo had thought to be some sort of unpleasant fungal infection that affected the young, when he thought about it at all.

Milo had learned oh so many things, not just words and numbers. He learned about circuits and crusades and conquistadors, not to mention cyclones and corneas, how to change a tire or a diaper and cook pork chops. He even learned things that started with letters other than ‘C’.

He also had learned that a lot of the time almost enough wasn’t quite, well, enough. 

And so, thinking all those thoughts, Milo set the letter back down on his desk, where it had appeared so suddenly. He looked around at his office, the books stacked high in piles that he really ought to order a bit better and the drawings stuck haphazardly to the walls from his granddaughter’s last visit.

Milo reached down into his pocket to pull out his notepad and pen and, barely looking, jotted down a note. Because one of those things he knew was that he would be missed.

That task accomplished, and writing instruments stowed back into pockets permanently stained with ink, Milo at last ripped open the letter and began to read.

> _Dear Milo,_  
>  _Think._  
>  _P.S. No, hints aren’t cheating._  
> 

Milo could not decipher the signature, which was blurry, indeed. But he was honestly not thinking about who sent it, except in the more general sense of ‘why’. Why here? Why now? Why not when he was still so very young and so very sad, missing his friends and thinking he might be mad.

It was like his mind lost all other words all of them turning into:

Why  
why why why  
whywhywhywwhywhywhywh ywhywhywhywwhywhywhywhywhywhy whywwhywhywhywhywhywhywhywwhywhywhywhywhywhywhyw whywhy whywhywhywhywhywwhywhy whywhywhywhywhywwhywhywhywhy whywhywhy wwhywhywhywwwwhy

Over and over it repeated until even that small word became jumbled with ‘h’s and ‘y’ tossed randomly in like bright little pieces of peppers scattered across the leafy ‘w’s in a word salad.

Then even that word stopped and Milo, for the first time in a very long time, stopped thinking at all. 

He shut his eyes instinctively, and by the time he opened them again he was smiling, for he knew what he would see.

And what an odd site he found himself in. For rather than piles of dusty-ish books (for Milo wasn’t quite as neat as he might be) he found himself surrounded by the dust alone. Or, at least Milo thought it was dust. It certainly was brown and looked an awful like the dust kicked up by tires spinning a bit too fast in his dirt driveway, only a much more massive scale.

But Milo was quite certain this was no ordinary dust. It couldn't be, not here. No, in this land everything had some extra layer. Perhaps these are little pieces of dreams, waiting to be scooped up and sprinkled into sleeping minds. Or perhaps, it was some other metaphor personified. Perhaps it was actually snow stained brown by pollution which must cleaned up!

It was not cold, but that was just a theory. But he knew it was something fascinating. I know how this works, thought Milo. And as soon as that thought crossed his mind he felt a distinct slipping sensation and grinned. He shook his head at himself for jumping to Conclusions, creating a cloud of maybe-dust as he called out, "Canby!"

But when the dust cleared, he was not the conclusion he had known, not unless it had changed as much as he had over the years. For the place he found himself was bright and shining. The landscape was peculiar, made up of hundreds of tiny mesas, some very slightly higher or lower than the one next to it, but none higher than his knees or wider than a car. And on each one there was a person.

And what people they were! Each one was more outlandishly decorated than the last. Over to his left Milo saw one who had a bright gold horn strapped to his forehead in an homage to a unicorn. Milo was rather glad he had not been dropped onto that mesa. However, there was already an occupant of the one he found himself on, judging by the tap he felt on his shoulder.

"I'm not Canby," said the woman peevishly. The sour expression on her face contrasted with her brilliant hair, which seemed to be woven all through with glittering gems and gold twisted wires of all different shining colors. "I'm One-of-a-Kind."

"One of what kind?" asked Milo.

"The best kind," she replied, smiling. "See, why look how high up we are. So much higher than all those others."

Milo did not say what he was thinking, which was that nothing here appeared to be that lofty, except, perhaps, for some of the airs. Instead he made an encouraging noise and asked for her to elucidate on why she was the best.

"Why, because I'm special," said One-of-a-Kind. "When I was born my parents knew I was special, and so I am!"

“You seem very sure,” said Milo, for want of another reply.

“Of course I am sure. Didn’t you know this is the mighty mountain range of Self Assurance?” See Milo shake his head, she continued, “How sad for you, not to know something like that. I, of course, know everything I need to.”

“And where did you learn all that? You seem very young to be so wise,” said Milo facetiously, which is a very long word for joking. 

Perhaps One-of-a-Kind did not know that, for she answered quite sincerely. “I didn’t need to learn it at all. I am just gifted,” said One-of-a-Kind stridently, as if this should be as obvious as her jewels.

“Well, I find learning things fun,” said Milo, “So I suppose I am content with not being so sure everything.”

One-of-a-Kind shook her head. “No.”

“No?” echoed Milo. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re here. That meant you were very sure.”

And then Milo had to spend some more time thinking. Because as much as he wanted to dismiss her words as silliness, he knew she was right. Why, he had been very sure the dust must be something special, when he had no reason to. Just because he had been here once before did not make him and expert.

Perhaps sensing his doubt, One-of-a-Kind started waving even as he slipped off the mesa and back down into his dust cloud, mind settling back down with him. He grabbed his pen and paper out of his pocket and started examining the dust, which, after a moment, appeared to indeed be dust. 

And so Milo set off, smiling, because he knew almost enough, which meant he didn’t know everything, yet. There was more to learn, and adventures to have and friends to find.


End file.
